Page 17 of Til Death Duke Us Part
5
EARNING COIN
Persephone’s heart was a drum beating beyond her control, a separate beast trying to claw out of her chest and into the duke’s. They slumped to the ground together, and he rolled into the wall, resting his back against it. She followed his lead until they were shoulder to shoulder. Almost but not quite touching. That slim half inch between them drew a cry to her throat. But she choked it down and worked, too, to calm her maddened heart. It still beat everywhere—in her wrists and chest, of course, her palms and soles of her feet, her belly and lower, and along every inch of her brain.
He’d barely touched her, and she’d fallen to pieces.
And she wanted to do it again.
Mornington banged the back of his head against the wall, his eyes closed. “Hell.” The word a groan. “What was that?”
She laughed, and the sound felt light, possessed the rising ring of a church bell on a sunny day. “That was… that was not entirely unexpected from my perspective.” Had to be admitted.
“Oh?” He rolled his head to look at her, his mouth the curved picture of cocky satisfaction.
“It’s been too long since I’ve felt the touch of a man. I have been… admiring your physical form. If not your personality. Or your morals.”
“Witch.”
She shrugged.
“How long?” he asked.
“Three long years. More. And I should have waited longer for a more pious man. I’m sure you’ve gone not even a day.”
He snorted. “Two years. More. My mistress didn’t believe in fucking a man for pity’s sake. And I’m quite particular about who I honor with my attentions.”
“See, there’s that personality.”
“My body is still pulsing.” He shook out his hands. “It’s like I can feel your satiation in my skin.”
She cracked her neck side to side and shook out her hands. “Me as well.” She didn’t drop her hand but lifted it higher to study the ring. “It’s so plain. You can’t have procured it from the family vaults. From whom did you steal it?” She meant it as a joke.
But he said, “I stole them from one of the tombs. Meant to sell them, but they’ve proved useful.”
She startled to her feet. “The tombs? When? I was with you! I didn’t see.”
“You were turning on the light. I scooped them up before you were done.”
She yanked at the ring. “It’s stuck. Oh no, no, no. It can’t be stuck. What are you doing?” He was sitting there on the floor like a fool, looking at her as if she’d gone mad. “Take yours off!”
“It’s a chunk of metal, nothing more.”
“It’s an alchemist ring! It’s binding metal!”
He scowled at the ring on his hand. “Binding metal? What’s that?”
“Oh God, get. It. Off!” She tugged and tugged, but it was stuck.
He ripped his off and sent it skittering across the floor then grasped her hand. “Stop. You’ll hurt yourself. Hold still. Damn you, Persephone, hold still!”
She froze, her heart pounding with horror.
And holding her gaze, he sucked her finger into his mouth, grasped the ring with his teeth, and gently tugged. It slid off with ease and he spit out. Hell, it felt so good, that tease of his teeth across her finger. But of course it did. The metal was trying to bind them, flooding them with the memories of the dead. When he released her hand she whipped it to her stomach, cradled it there like it was injured.
“Now,” he said, his voice rough, “tell me what that was all about.”
She stared at her finger where she still felt the subtle tug of his teeth. What should she do with it? Pretend it never happened? Pretend the act, the slow sucking and withdrawl of her digit from his mouth hadn’t struck like lightning in her core?
